Vermin
by Zapwing
Summary: That crawly guy really left an impression, didn't he? Set during 'Orion Pax: Part 2'.


**Vermin**

Boredom was something Cybertronians are very used to. It's no surprise that such a long lifespan can lead to idleness, tedium, monotony… And so, with all this free time on their hands, diversions were taken up. There were some who composed music, some who perused over the extensive archives, some who raced on the speed ways, some who tinkered with mechanics, some who built sculptures, some who wrote stories…

But take all of that away…

And then what do you get?

The Thing shuffled a little in the confined space. It remembered when it had received its orders. The Master had given it strict instructions; nobody, be it mechanical or organic, was to get past it. It was not to move from its post, for constant presence in the area was required. And if it failed to comply with its orders? It would be torn to pieces, and fed to the younglings.

And so, with great pride, it had taken up its job. It had promised itself that it would follow its instructions to the letter. And so it took its position, and watched…

And watched…

And watched…

And watched…

The sun ran its due course. The twin moons completed their phases. One by one, as the planet went dead, holograms, advertisements and giant mega screens stuttered and died. The radioactive fallout from the energon warheads fell like a rust blizzard. Severe electric storms ravaged the planet, tearing off struts, and collapsing the weaker bridges. Buildings supports weakened, sending the massive skyscrapers toppling. Acidic rain lashed the metal surfaces, dissolving the paint, until the landscape was as grey as crematory ash. Smog coated the sky, hung over the once proud buildings, like a choking blanket, splitting apart to let in sunlight, occasionally. The warmth died away. The cold crept in, taking over. It was cold. So very cold…

And it watched all of this, never moving, never wavering, and never flinching. It would follow its orders. It would stay. And it watched…

And watched…

And watched…

And watched…

The fog of war lifted. The survivors crawled upwards from the surface, saw the horror of their petty power struggle. It had watched, as they began their exodus. Minor skirmishes broke out. Friends fought with friends. Brothers fought with brothers. Sisters fought with sisters. But they never crossed the border. They knew what was beyond the line. So they never came near, which suited it just fine…

And it watched them, from its post, or rather, sensed their vibrations, their voices, as they fought over the few remaining resources, this once proud empire scrabbling and killing each other like animals, desperate to get their ships online, and take to the stars. Some tried to bargain, some tried to join forces, work together. It worked. Some of the time, anyway…

And when the starships left, when the ion trail of warp-drive engines died out, the stranded, the ones who didn't make it in time, the ones who had lost everything, the ones who just couldn't get enough spare parts or energon, they were left to lament. It sat and sensed their pained screams and cries, cursing Primus, the Thirteen, themselves…

And then they themselves died. For a time, a majority became feral, but they would offline too, one by one, either from starvation, or forced suicide. And it watched...

And watched…

And watched…

And watched…

There was silence now. Not even the wind blew; the air was so still. The scenery did not change. It sat, following its orders. It sensed the Master. He was here, oh yes, he was here. It would not fail its Master, no, it wouldn't, it wouldn't even dream of it!

Wait…

Vibrations…

An engine! It tensed, the ripples getting closer and closer and closer… It rattled aggressively. The engine cut out as the visitor approached. And then it sensed something else. The pulse of fluids, the pungent stench of hair and skin, and the synthetic smell of a protective suit. An organic! Here! It bristled in its tiny space, and growled silently. Unacceptable! If the Master was to see an organic, he would see it dead!

"We're on foot from here…" said a voice, female. It sensed the vibration of the organic's limbs, as it got off the femme. Then the familiar sounds of a transformation sequence, and the cycle and activation of a weapon. "Don't want engine noise to attract the wrong kind of attention…" said the femme. It almost laughed out loud at her statement. Hadn't she done that already?

"Cons?" asked the organic. It gagged at the thing's voice. Disgusting! How dare it speak without the aid of a vocalizer! No, how dare it even set foot on this planet! Pure, white hot hatred coursed through its systems, as it sensed the horrible thing breathing in and out, sucking in air…

"_Vermin…_" corrected the femme, and it detected the apprehension and disgust in her voice. She actually got its name right! How nice of her!

"This way," said the organic. And then Vermin sensed the powerful object. It stiffened, and its fuel ran cold. No, it couldn't be! That thing in the organic's filthy paws? It would not allow it…

It sensed the steady beat of their pedes, as they crossed the bridge, and Vermin growled. It commanded its pod to open, the plates sliding apart. Stretching its limbs, the Insecticon hung upside down for a moment, enjoying the feel of gravity tugging at it, before grabbing hold of the metal, heckles raised. Vermin growled and sniffed, moving rapidly, rattling softly, so as not to startle its prey…

It would kill the femme first; her pretty corpse would brighten up the youngling's chambers.

Boredom was something Cybertronians are very used to. It's no surprise that such a long lifespan can lead to idleness, tedium, monotony… And so, with all this free time on their hands, diversions were taken up. There were some who composed music, some who perused over the extensive archives, some who raced on the speed ways, some who tinkered with mechanics, some who built sculptures, some who wrote stories…

And then, there were some, like Vermin the Insecticon, who simply succumbed to the mental torture, and went mad…

* * *

><p><strong>I just had to write a fic about that guy. I swear, I just shat my pants when his cocoon opened up, and he crawled out! I don't know about you guys, but our good buddy Vermin, is without a doubt, an Insecticon! <strong>

**He left such an impression on me, what with that creepy rapist-hissing-and-growling. The only other bots that are able to leave such an imprint on my mind, are the Dreads from the Dark of the Moon film, the live-action Frenzy, Barricade, and Bonecrusher, Shockwave's Driller, and of course, Soundwave. It's truly a rare thing when a minion, a simple generic one at that, can scare you so shitless...**

**Anyway, i'm not expecting any reviews, but if there will be some, I'd like to know what you guys think!**

**Zapwing out.**


End file.
